Sparks
by marionettedoll95
Summary: She had kissed him on the cheek that one day at King's Cross, just before he was about to leave. And he felt something. It was some sort of click, or a switch that had just been flipped on. A spark. That's what it was. And he knew she felt it as well.


**A/N: Really, really short one-shot. It's quick, and straight to the point. "A Certain Romance" is under hiatus, as I am currently doing a re-write of it. It will probably change the over-all plot, and etc. Enjoy this in the mean time. :) Don't forget to leave a review!**

**Sparks**

They had never defined it. They weren't aware that they had to. They were, however, aware of how it started. She had kissed him on the cheek that one day at King's Cross, just before he was about to leave. And he _felt_ something. It was some sort of click, or a switch that had just been flipped on. A spark. That's what it was. And he knew she felt it as well. That spark wasn't going to die out, especially not with the frequent letters they'd sent each other over the summer or the shy phone calls.

They were more affectionate now, he knew. He found himself looking forward to getting her letters with the shy, "Love, Hermione" at the end. He also found himself writing longer letters to her, and he found that she was sending her replies just as eagerly.

He looked forward to her calls, despite the fact it sometimes bereft him of his dinner. He enjoyed hearing her voice, the shy, "Hi, Harry," over the fuzzy phone. He enjoyed talking and laughing for hours on end until his uncle would finally pull the plug on the phone.

He enjoyed her companionship, and he treasured it. And soon enough, he found himself even more eager to return to Hogwarts that year, just to be with her.

And that was it. That was their start. The slight scratching of two stones to make a spark, _their_ spark. And it didn't matter whether that spark was small or barely there. What mattered was that it was a spark. And it was up to them to keep that spark going.

When they barely saw each other during the start of the train ride, he was starting to feel a bit hopeless. She had to go do her duty and be the Prefect, and he had to stay out of trouble. He thought he'd have the company of his other best friend, but he was Prefect as well.

When they returned, she took her place beside him. They were shy and awkward at first with one another, as if they had just met. Ron had been oblivious to it, trying to bring Harry into numerous conversations about the upcoming Quidditch Cup. After the umpteenth time of a lack of response from his friend, Ron left the carriage and joined Seamus and Dean's for the remainder of the trip.

If possible, they were more awkward with each other than when Ron was there. They talked quietly, shyly. A few minutes, they were having a civilized conversation. An hour or so later, they were laughing together, their knees brushing too often to be an accident. By the end of the train ride, her head was upon his shoulder as she peacefully slept, his arm was around her shoulders, his hand rubbing her arm up and down in a smooth movement, and her hand was resting ever so subtly upon his knee.

The year went on perfectly, despite the fact nearly everybody thought him a raving lunatic. But it was fine. He had the people who mattered the most believing in him. But most of all, he had _her_. She'd helped him through all his troubles that year. She had even helped him through the most difficult times, especially with Umbridge around.

She'd helped him study, learn new spells, and she even gave him a hope he'd never realized he had. It was also her brilliant idea to start Dumbledore's Army. She was too brilliant to be stuck with him.

He'd told her that one night, the night they'd set up the successful army, and said that he didn't know why she was even friends with him. She laughed, her eyes lighting up with humor. She thought it ridiculous. "Of course I'm good enough for you, Harry," she'd said, the light of the fire dancing in her eyes. She smiled at him one last time, brightly, fondly, before kissing him on the cheek (a few millimeters from the corner of his mouth), longer than she usually had and running off to bed.

They'd held the first meeting of the DA. Harry was awkward and slightly nervous with the huge crowd. Hermione pulled him aside when the other members were practicing a defensive spell and told him he would get better and his ability to be a natural leader would shine through. She beamed at him proudly and squeezed his hand, holding onto it, before saying, "You did very well, Harry."

Harry found himself eager towards the DA meetings, because, not only was he starting to get better at teaching, but he also got to be with Hermione at a close proximity as he taught her the proper spell techniques. He liked seeing her smile, hearing her grateful, "Thanks, Harry". He liked seeing her happiness on her face, as he would tell her, "You're doing great, Hermione". He didn't know what he was feeling, but he liked it. And this went on, undefined, unknown.

But it couldn't go on like that any longer. They had to define it. But they never felt the need to. The spark between them stayed strong and bright, but it never grew into a fire. It wasn't long before that spark started to fade.

* * *

It started fading during a DA meeting. Hermione brought in new members, hoping to receive the approval of Harry. He remembered the day so well. He had been demonstrating to Neville how to do the Patronus charm, when he felt a familiar hand upon his shoulder, squeezing it tenderly.

"Harry," she'd said. "I've brought more members. Is that all right?"

He'd wanted to tell her yes, wanted to see her eyes light up in happiness. To this day, he regrets never telling her, regrets being blind and foolish. But he hadn't seen her at all. He saw another, found another. The girl was smiling at him shyly, almost the same way Hermione had, but not quite. She was pretty—no, beautiful. Her black hair framed her exotic face. "Hi, Harry," she said when she noticed him looking (gawking) at her.

"H-hi," he stuttered.

And that was _their_ spark. It wasn't as strong as his and Hermione's, but it was there. And he felt it. He was sure she felt it as well.

"Harry?" Hermione asked timidly, nervously. "Is that all right?"

"Oh, yeah, sure," he murmured absently, staring at the girl. He'd seen her before. He'd even fancied her in his previous year, but he gave that up, realizing she loved her boyfriend, Cedric Diggory. _But he's not here now_, a voice rang in his head.

Hermione's face fell at his lack of response, and noticed how he was paying attention to the new girl. "All right then," she whispered, before leaving to practice her own Patronus.

"D-d'you know the Patronus charm?" Harry asked awkwardly, once it was just the two of them.

"I know it, but I've never done it. I've heard you can do a corporeal Patronus, Harry. Is that true?" She asked, her eyes shining with stars.

"Well, yeah," he replied, shyly. "Want—do you want me to demonstrate?"

She nodded. And he spent the rest of their time together, reveling in their spark. He hadn't noticed Hermione watching them with sadness. He hadn't even noticed she'd left the room.

* * *

She was working on her Potions essay in the library when she found out. It was quiet there, peaceful. She could concentrate fully. Well, she tried to. She missed his presence there. He was never obligated to stay with her, but he wanted to, just because she was there. She missed it when their knees brushed. She missed it when he would purposely bump her hand as an excuse to hold it for a second or two. She missed him. But he wasn't there. And he wouldn't be for a while. And so, she took a deep breath and concentrated on her essay.

And then that concentration was interrupted. It was quiet laughter. She pinched the bridge of her nose before standing up and adjusting her robes, making sure her Prefect badge was set.

"Excuse me," she said, finding the three Hufflepuff girls behind a bookshelf, giggling. "But if you want to make such noise, please do it outside of the library."

One of the girls sniffed. "Fine, then. Wouldn't want bookworm Granger to hear all about the latest gossip on Harry Potter."

Hermione raised her eyebrows. "I could actually care less. Now, would you please leave the library so others seeking peace and quiet may actually have that."

The girls turned their noses up at her and marched out of the room. "I bet she's just jealous," one tried to whisper as Hermione retook her seat and picked up her quill. "She's just jealous that Harry kissed Cho, and not her." The other girls giggled and left the library.

Hermione froze, a numb feeling developing within her. Her quill dropped from her hand, marring her one and a half foot essay with a blob of black ink. She couldn't feel anything. She didn't want to.

* * *

It's been too long, he decides. He misses her. His misses how they stayed together after class, talking about everything and anything. He misses teaching her in the DA. He misses hearing her voice. He missed seeing her bright smiles. He missed those pecks on the cheek. He misses _her_. But he can't go to her. Not when he was the one who drove her away in the first place.

He glances up and catches Hermione's eye across the Gryffindor Common Room for a millisecond, before she breaks it and continues writing her essay. Harry feels guilt and remorse fill him. She's been carefully guarded. Her face is perfectly blank; her voice is just as well. She's stopped staying with him. She's separated herself from him. But she still stays with Ron, and the two become friendlier with each other than they had ever been before.

He watches her, trying to work up the nerve to talk to her. But he can't. He doesn't want to make her feel like the consolation prize after things didn't work out with him and Cho.

He sighs heavily, tracing his gingers over his large Charms book. He hasn't understood a word the book was saying. Not for weeks now. He hadn't understood his lessons in general. He hadn't even been playing Quidditch properly. He brushed it off; excusing it was a reaction that things with Cho didn't work, that they no longer seemed to spark.

And so it continued for days like that. Harry avoided Hermione, and Hermione avoided Harry. And Ron split his time between the two of them. It had been going fine, despite Harry failing nearly all of his subjects, and getting even more detention with Umbridge, and Hermione getting no sleep at night, and falling asleep in class. One of them was going to break. And someone did. Just not the person you were expecting to.

* * *

He entered the library, confident and yet nervous, afraid that everything between them was going to get even more painfully messed up. But he'd made up his mind. He couldn't take it. Without her, it felt like everything inside of him was breaking.

He found her almost immediately. She was sitting at one of the tables near the door, rewriting her History of Magic notes, as if awaiting him to come. He swallowed, his confidence slowly diminishing. He took one step to her. At the same time, Hermione froze, her eyes still on the paper, as if she was sensing him, his presence. And then she shook her head and continued writing.

Harry walked quickly and steadily, sitting down beside her so quickly, she was momentarily stunned. He sensed her surprise and her tension, but she didn't show it and continued scratching her quill against the parchment.

"Hermione?" He asked timidly.

She paused, her quill hanging over the parchment before she released a heavy sigh and looked up at him, her eyes focusing on the spot between his eyebrows. "Yes?"

"I—" Harry froze, every single word he'd rehearsed in his mind over and over flew at light speed at the sight of her blank face and dull eyes. "I haven't seen you lately," he said stupidly.

"We're best friends," she informed him apathetically as she picked up her quill, already bored of the conversation. "We see each other everyday."

"I meant I have talked to you in a while," he corrected, his voice soft, tired.

"Then why can't you just tell me that in the first place?" she snapped, throwing her quill down and glaring at him, her eyes firing. "Isn't it your fault why we're like this? Isn't it your fault I can hardly dare to look at you, to even be with you?"

Harry couldn't speak. His throat felt heavy and his chest felt tight. The room started to spin. "I—I didn't mean to—"

She stood up, keeping her things. "We should discuss this outside," she said sternly. And without a word, she stomped out of the library, followed by a guilty looking Harry.

* * *

"Why couldn't you just tell me?" She asked. She told herself not to speak until he did. But she couldn't bear it. She couldn't stand being with him and the air being tense and heavy, weighing down on her shoulders. They were out by the Great Lake. Hermione was angry, her arms folded tightly across her chest, her brow crumpled, and her eyes slightly wet. She watched as the sun, now a yellow-orange colored ball, sank down, a fourth of it hidden by the Forbidden Forest in the distance. Harry stood behind her, watching her.

"Tell you what?" He asked almost too afraid to ask it.

"Tell me that you didn't want to be with me. I thought you'd have the decency to tell me about Cho. I would've understood."

"Hermione," he asked, placing his hand on her shoulder. "What are you talking about?"

"I'm talking about us!" She cried, spinning to face him. He noticed two silver streaks of tears crawling down her face. "Or what _was_ us." Her hands were shaking. She was no longer sure why they were. He noticed and took them in his own, rubbing his thumbs over her cold hands in a soothing matter. It was strange. He'd never noticed her hands were so small against his. "I—I thought I _meant_ something to you," she murmured, staring at their joined hands in regret.

"You _do_ mean something to me," he whispered, kissing her hands softly, tenderly. He squeezed them gently. "You mean everything to me."

"But—" she paused, almost too afraid to ask, and then, "—but what about Cho? I thought you had something with her."

"We had a spark," he whispered, his mouth hovering above her ear as he pulled her closer to him. "But we never had a flame. Not like what you and I have."

She let out a sob before she threw her arms around his neck and buried her face on the crook of his neck.

He understood now. He understood what he felt, what she felt, what they both felt, together. He never defined them. He never felt the need to. Because she already had. She'd done was he was too afraid to do. And he was too stupid, so amazingly, pathetically stupid, not to notice it. Rather, he _had_ noticed it, he just hadn't acknowledged it. All those hours he spent in class, wondering, hoping, all those nights he used staying up and just _thinking_ about her. He was surprised she was able to handle herself professionally when he was with Cho. He was surprised that everybody had noticed except for him. Even his godfather had noticed.

Hermione slipped to her knees, bringing him with her. He cradled her in his arms and buried his nose in her soft hair. "I love you, Hermione," he whispered, before kissing her nose, her cheeks, her forehead, and then finally, her lips. And it was with that simple phrase he defined them. Three words, eight letters. That was their definition. That was their flame. And rest assured, it was never going to die out. He would make sure of that. And he knew she would too.

**Fin.**


End file.
